


It Feels Like Hope

by supercalifragilis



Series: The Sensible Brother [1]
Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Welcome to Sanditon
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pining, Porn With Plot, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-12-28 11:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21136115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercalifragilis/pseuds/supercalifragilis
Summary: A story of how Sidney fell in deep love with Charlotte, and how he dealt with it. It will go hand in hand with each episode. The rating is now explicit, just in case!





	1. The Crack

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on https://www.tumblr.com/blog/supercalifragilisaow

Everytime he came into view of those clifftops, the same feeling of freedom settled in. There was simply nothing that compared to those views, the vibrancy of green, the contrast with the sea below. Sidney may have made a life in London for his business, but Sanditon felt more like home. It also helped that Sanditon held no particularly tragic memories, when London did. He’d chosen to ride this way that morning, instead of in a proper carriage, as he craved the reinvigorated feeling it brought it. Few things felt this good these days. 

He did not look forward to having to parade around town with Babbington and Crowe like some sort of fashionable beau monde and, worst of all, he would probably have to dance with some insipid women at the ball. But Tom had insisted, and there was little Sidney could do to prevent himself from helping in whatever way he could, regardless of how much of a drain it was on his already-lacking emotional energy. He dearly loved his brother and his family. Every time he got to see his nephews, he felt equally joyful and devastated. Joyful because they brought him so much love and careless innocence, devastated, because he had chosen a life where he would not have a family. Where he would have little love. 

At the turn of another clifftop he saw some figures walking that seemed alerted to his arrival. As he got closer, he recognized Mary, who was waving at him, so he slowed the horses. Mary was walking with another woman, but he couldn’t figure out who it was. As the carriage came to a halt, he took another look before he jumped out of the carriage. The slim, wild-haired young woman was intriguing. She seemed young, and she was not smiling, as anyone would be to properly greet a stranger. Instead, she was looking straight at him with barely-disguised curiosity. He called out to Mary, smiled at his dear sister-in-law. He looked quickly at the other woman again, recording everything for further examination. Her eyes were bright, her face pink with exercise, her whole demeanor fresh and open, her lips full. This was not good. He forced himself to look away, and greeted Mary. “New maid?” he asked, seeing if he could unsettle her in his turn. Mary rightfully reprimanded him, and introduced her. Charlotte Heywood. How had she gotten here, and who was she? They didn’t know any Heywoods. He allowed himself to look at her and address her directly, asking for her name again. She seemed taken aback, and frowned. He wanted to hear her voice more. He looked at the sea, at Mary, talked only to her, about the ball and whatever else. He couldn’t help looking at her a few more times, then he took his leave and got back on the carriage. 

He felt unsettled. He couldn’t deny that he was more intrigued by this girl than he had been by any other one of her sex in several years. She was pretty in a wild sort of way, but there was something in her that called to him. He groaned at himself. A mere girl, with her simple dress and undone hair. And she was staying with Tom and Mary, too. Why? He resolved to stop thinking about it, and kept on riding. 

Over the next few days, he avoided the house as much as he could, for frankly Tom annoyed him with his questions and his insistence. He had come, had he not? And brought companions, too. What else could he be expected to do. The times he had been there, he had not run into Miss Heywood at all. After Tom had greeted him, and they were sitting quietly, sipping scotch, he had mentioned that he ran into Mary and their guest. He had tried to sound detached: “So who is this Miss Heywood, then?”  
“Oh, a sweet girl, Sidney. It is a bit of an unusual story! You know that we left London about ten days ago. Our coachman was ill, so we hired someone else, but I think that man did not know the way as well as he pretended. We were riding extremely fast on a small country road, and really quite fast, my dear brother! And sure enough, one of the wheels got out off its hinges, and the carriage got out of the road and toppled over on its side. It was really quite scary! But we were both without a scratch. I opened the door and here she was, with a few of her sisters and brothers. She helped us get out of the carriage, but on my way down, I sprained my ankle. And so we stayed a few days at her father’s estate until I could walk. When we left, we offered to take her with us, you know, to thank them for their hospitality. Charlotte really wanted to see Sanditon! I do believe she will stay with us for the summer.” This was a bit worse than he expected, although he chuckled at the way she had come into their lives. It seemed to fit the little he had observed about her, somehow. 

Now here they were, at the ball. Tom was doing the rounds, introducing everyone. He was soon pushed, with Babbington and Crowe, to a group of ladies as the dance commenced. He made the introductions, looking down when he said her name. What did her name sound different than the others in the way that it came out? Surely they all would notice. He had to better disguise. Surely this too would pass. He looked at her quickly, as Babbington and Crowe were smoothly transitioning to inviting them to dance. She looked so different, both from the wild-haired girl he had met on the clifftops and from Miss Denham and Miss Brereton. White clearly suited her, and her hair was up. The elegance of her neck was enhanced by that simple white feather in her hair. Her cleavage was at best distracting. This was no girl. She was all woman, and he felt powerless. He brought his expression back to its usual sternness. It did not matter if his body betrayed him so, the attraction would be mastered. And it would be dissimulated. Her smile. Even observed from a quick glance, he could not help but respond to it. Still he avoided her gaze. Of course, Crowe and Babbington took their pick of the other ladies. He felt bad for her. She was wearing her disappointment on her face, to be chosen last. He could imagine she felt a bit out of place, given what Tom has said about her background. She seemed to avoid his gaze too. He bowed, quickly, brought her closer for the dance. 

He was forced to look at her now, at the risk of seeming impolite. She was looking back, in earnest. His mind screamed at the danger of this, the sheer recklessness. He was keeping her as far from his body as was acceptable, and still this felt too natural to be comfortable. He schooled his expression to sterner, looked left, right, anything to avoid her gaze; he thought he noticed her confusion, and he felt bad for it.  
“Your brother will be pleased with you, Mister Parker.” Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He agreed with her, and continued speaking. Surely, that would make the not looking more palatable. He talked of Babbington, of the Prince Regent. She interrupted and finished his sentence, her voice filling in the last word with a bit of irony and sarcasm that was, like everything else so far about her, refreshing. He was fully looking at her now, as they spoke. “And you care about such things?” He was struck, then, by how little this sounded like small talk, and how much she seemed to want to know him. “For my brother’s sake, I do, yes.” He looked at her again. That is when Tom interrupted the dance. 

The ball was still going on, but Sidney was already exhausted. He climbed the stairs to the balcony of the Assembly rooms, where he could hope to find some quiet and remain hidden for a while. He had performed well. He let the severity breathe out of him for a moment, letting himself go. He saw her arrive in the corner of his eye, and turned to look at her without greeting her. “Oh... I beg your pardon.” He looked down at the dance, “Not necessary”, he said. He felt bad for behaving in a way that would make her apologize for her presence. He turned to her then and smiled while she wasn’t looking. She was really very pretty, so it was normal that he felt attracted to her. He could not help but start a conversation, as it was all too tempting to get to know her. She was talked of how difficult it was to make people out. His mask was down, she would find out any minute now. He chanced a question. “Did anyone particular provoke that thought?” “People in general.” So, not him then. He was safe for now. Although, somehow, he was also disappointed. He chanced again. “And what have you observed about me upon our small acquaintance?” He fully turned his body towards hers then, and smiled. She cracked him open, then: “I think you must be the sensible brother of the three”. He fully laughed at that. He had forgotten what it was to make an impression on a stranger, one that had little to do with prejudice or gossip, with a reputation that preceded you. And most certainly, he had never heard himself depicted as the most sensible of his brothers. It meant a lot, in a way, that she had observed that about him, for that is how he desperately wanted to be perceived, what he strived for daily. He wanted to know more: “And what makes you say that?” What came after was a shock. She was criticizing Arthur, then Tom, when she was a guest in his home. How could she be so judgmental? He got angry then. Angry from having been too open, perhaps hopeful, at the waking up of his heart. He needed to tell her off, to let out his anger on her. It was her fault that he had let down his guard. By the time he was done, he could tell she was affected by his words. He took his leave, and stormed off. 

Back in his room at the hotel later, after several glasses of whiskey, her words still resonated with him. Her voice too, and her whole body. This would not do. Perhaps, in retrospect, her words would not have been so outraging if they had not been so true. He lay down on the bed, fully clothed. It was so exhausted to behave like he did, most of the time. He was too exhausted to feel bad about having yelled at her. It had felt good. It had felt like a much-needed escape. He turned on his side, punching his pillow into a more comfortable position. He knew then that this too was a problem. He was attracted to her, but she also raised that fire in him. He had to avoid Miss Heywood at all cost. Until he left for London again, where he could get back to his life.


	2. The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, people. Episode 2, and it gets a bit steamy.

Chapter 2.

The next morning, Sidney awoke with a burning headache, and a foul mood. He’d fallen asleep deeply, only to be awakened early by the seagulls. It was one of those dreams that linger in spirit and mood, but whose exact topic escaped comprehension. A faceless woman, whose touch he craved. Eliza, probably. That only made him angrier, for he could certainly guess what had brought it on. He’d felt unsettled the night before, unsure about the way he went about things. It is not that he was not aware of how deeply Eliza had changed him, or rather, how deeply what she had done had turned him topsy-turvy. It was rather a constant disappointment at how hard he exerted himself to be unaffected, and how little it paid off whenever he was brought against his demons once more, whether in the shape of his insistent brother – who could never let him forget how much he owed him – or in a memory of Eliza that persisted inked in his brain. He did not know, truly, whether he still loved her or whether his resentment had successfully obliterated her, but he had not seen her since he had been back from Antigua, and he was afraid to. He stood up, and a sudden dizziness made him lean at the window sill, looking at the street below. He wondered, then, whether the attraction he had felt for Miss Heywood could reasonably be compared to how he had felt about Eliza. They were all but nineteen, and, since they had evolved in the same circles for years, he could not remember ever not having admired her. He did not remember truly falling in love with Eliza, as he had grown up loving her. As if beckoned by his thought, little Miss Heywood exited Trafalgar House, alone. He squinted, for it was quite early still, just after daybreak. Where could she be going at that time? He looked at her walking, determined and contemplative, in the direction of the beach. Perhaps she enjoyed an early walk on the sand. Of course she did. He thought of how harsh he had been to her last night, how infuriated too. Avoiding her from now on also had the benefit of not dealing with the image of himself she had projected back when he was done talking, last night, that of an angry, cold man. 

After breaking his fast, he readied himself to go out. He exited into the street, only to see Miss Heywood walking in his direction. Her hair, still wild, was wet. He schooled his expression and hoped he could still act as if he had not seen her. He turned to look at something else, anything else, than her and her wet hair. Yet as he passed by her, he smelled the sea on her, and that made him walk faster. The ubiquitous Miss Heywood. 

Of course, avoiding someone meant you ran into them everywhere, and later that day, as he was walking with Babbington and Crowe around the construction area for the Terrace apartments, in the hope of casually convincing them to rent one, he caught sight of her, up on the scaffolding with Young Stringer, as Tom was climbing down. Just speaking to Tom made his blood turn, powerless as he felt to control his own decisions against his. He gave in, and left in pursuit of the gentlemen. That’s when she called his name, and he was forced to acknowledge her this time. He couldn’t imagine what she would want to say to him after yesterday, but he gave her his full attention, as she was at least a good distraction from the frustration he felt after talking to Tom. “I hope you won’t think too badly of me.” That was too tempting, for clearly she had not understood what he had done the day before. He had to admit that she surprised him. But what was she trying to achieve? As he spoke about how little he cared for, or thought of her, he saw her face change into something different than last night. She had seemed truly shaken then, but she was taking his words now with a defiant turn of her neck, and looked at him now with a knowing expression. “Have I made myself clear?”, he asked. She looked away, and back at him, and said: “Only if you truly don’t care, I wonder that you take the trouble to be quite so offensive and hurtful.” He caught his breath then, and with that, she was gone, taking her last words with her, but leaving them hanging in between. And this was exactly why he could not let her get any closer. She saw too much. He realized then how much of his act relied on most of his family and friends not looking any closer, or being more perceptive. 

Lady Denham’s luncheon promised to be torture, and she delivered soon enough, setting him next to her at the table. He looked to his left and saw that she seemed cold, and just as awkward as he was to find herself next to him. He could hardly let the silence sit between them, so he asked whether she had any observations on their companions, still avoiding her gaze, who saw too much. But she seemed to have ran out of niceties towards him, finally. He insisted: “Share it with me”, and turned his face to her, adding a small smile to encourage her. “Not for the world!” He seemed to have lost the right to know her opinion. Fair enough. He had not expected what came next, as she called him out. Her words rang in his ears longer than they should, “I’ve endured two tongue-lashings from you and I won’t court a third. Save your unpleasantness for someone else. Or better still, why not try to be civil?” And there it was, the naïve sweet girl really was a cynic who understood what he was doing. He thought that at least for her perceptiveness, he would make amends. Truly, what she had said hurt. “Well said”, he said, because it was, “perhaps I might.” And he looked at her, hoping he could convey how sorry he was for having behaved like this. “But not with me, pray!” and she turned to talk to Crowe. He was glad she turned. He didn’t know how his face could look, but if it was anything close to how he felt, it was too exposed. His curiosity for her thoughts, which started all this, was now full-blown, burning desire. He felt himself getting aroused. It felt like a slap, like a laugh. Like a challenge. 

He was a bit lost in thought when the conversation took a turn, the whole table listening to Lady Denham as she provoked Georgiana. The insufferable lady turned to Miss Heywood. He looked at her then, and was pleased to notice that she looked at him too, before she answered. He schooled his expression, but expected to be both surprised and delighted by her answer. He could not help but turn to her as she spoke, perhaps looking for her gaze again. “Don’t you agree, Mister Parker?” Despite the seriousness of the conversation, he smiled swiftly at the way she pronounced his name, like payback. His lack of answer did nothing to deflate Lady Denham’s verve, as she provoked Miss Heywood, now. As she spoke, he thought of how exhausting it must be, for her, to have everyone assume that the reason she came here was exactly that, to look for a wealthy husband. To marry and to keep her? He felt a muscle in his jaw work without his consent. “And if I were to choose a husband, wealth would not come into it.” All he could think about now was Eliza, and the choice she had made. He registered her saying “mutual love and affection”, and felt somber. He felt so distant from Miss Heywood’s hopeful and carefree attitude. He felt like he was older than his years. 

The rest of the day was a blur of more mask, more frustration. He enjoyed the company of Babbington and Crowe, but he could tell his mood was growing sourer. First there had been Crowe and his fantasies about Miss Heywood – it bothered him how ridiculously possessive he had felt of her then – and Georgiana – he’d been justified to give full reign to his anger then. After Tom had come to claim yet another piece of his him, he was restless and could only think of jumping in the water. He had been wanting to do that since he had seen Miss Heywood’s wet hair that morning. That, and other things he could not do, if he was honest with himself. 

He almost ran to the beach, but went to a secluded cove instead. He was used to swimming there, which was one of the few reasons he liked Sanditon. He thought of Miss Heywood. How stupid that he could swim naked, while she, a woman, had to dress up to enjoy the same exercise. He removed his clothes and rushed in, the fresh air and colder water making him forget his thoughts, and he swam for a long while. It was starting to be too cold, and he had no idea how long he had been there, so he dived in for a last swim underwater, and emerged when he saw he was almost reaching the cove. He stood up, and was making his way out of the water, when he saw her. From the movement of her hair, he could tell she had just turned around. She had seen him. He said what first came to his mind: “Miss Heywood. Am I never to get away from you?” He could not see her face when she reacted, and thought of how inconvenient that was. In fact, he could not see how she reacted to the situation at all. “Mister Parker, I assure you, you’re the last person I wish to see.” He realized then how inconsiderate he had been, once more, and how he had resolved to be more civil. “Yes” he admitted, “you’re right” (she often was, to tell the truth) “I spoke out of turn. Forgive me.” “Of course” she answered, then she excused herself, and ran. He stood there, stopped in his track. Her back turned to him, he could have rushed to his clothes, tried to conceal himself, or gotten back in the water. Why had he stayed proudly standing, as if daring her to look? He looked around, reached for his clothes. 

Walking back, he thought of how young and naïve he had first judged her to be. She had proven much more perceptive since then, but still young and inexperienced. The excitement that ran through him at the idea that she had seen him, that she might have felt attracted to his naked form as well, surprised him. Sidney could not care less about his body. He knew himself to be handsome, he also knew that that had little importance in the grand scheme of things. It was money he had lacked, back then. But then, would he have wanted Eliza to marry him for money? Charlotte’s words resonated still. “Wealth would not come into it.” He climbed the stairs to his room at the inn. He wanted to change out of his wet clothes, so he disrobed quickly. It was becoming dark outside now, and he would surely join Crowe and Babbington for dinner. He allowed himself a minute to lay in the bed, under the sheets. His muscles were sore from the fighting of the other day, but refreshed from the swim. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Charlotte. In the privacy of his room, he let himself feel the sharp desire he had felt twice today. When she had rightfully snapped at him at the luncheon. Her frown. And when he had seen her seeing him. First, the surprise. Then, the heat. He’d wanted her to come into the water with him. He could feel himself grow hard just thinking of the possibility. Sidney was a sensual man, who could still grant himself these occasional, if furtive and base, pleasures. He reached for his cock. He imagined a faceless woman that he was beckoning to the water with him. Once naked, she was glorious. She did not need to be anybody in particular. She would touch his chest, her fingers tentative, and he would bring her closer, her voluptuous breasts would flatten against his chest and she would wrap her legs around his hips, as the waves would come and go around them. She would kiss him then, hungry and revengeful, and he would enter her, lost in the feeling of her wrapped around him. He heard the noises he made pleasuring himself, his heavy breathing. He wished he could touch her left breast, her round ass, and he felt her move against him. As she would get closer and closer, he would pull them deeper in the water, her hair, always down, now wet, wrapping around his face as well as hers. He cried out his release. He turned over on the bed. He needed to control this. The woman was not faceless any longer.


	3. The Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 3. Tender Sidney appears.

He woke up with a start, and immediately was aware that he was not in a mellow mattress but, instead, laying on a table, his legs dangling. He felt the pain in his neck, his back, heard the construction noise that probably had woken him up for the deep, drunker sleep he’d fallen into. Last night was a blur. He’d come here to drink himself to oblivion, and it seemed to have worked. He growled as he raised himself up, yelling at whoever would hear him: “Show some mercy, it is rudely early!” There was something undeniably satisfying in this change of personality he had undergone or acted upon himself. He did not filter what he wanted to say, except with Tom, always with Tom. To anyone else, he would growl, snap, let his voice be heard. As a child, he’d concealed his occasional ill humor, as he’d learned early on that he was the odd brother, the one who was not jolly, who was not content, among two brothers who were extremely both. Now he cared not what anybody thought, and freely let his mood reign over how he was perceived by the world. He heard Miss Heywood’s voice “I believe you are the sensible brother out of the three.” How he wishes she’d be right also in that. Instead, he lay there, wrecked, unable to reach his bed.   
His friends came in, teasing him, and he was reminded then of the cove, and much else. Why on earth had he been possessed to tell them? They had drunk heavily, played cards, and by the fourth bottle, his tongue went a bit too freely, hinting at the objectively comical scene. “I went swimming earlier, in a secluded cove…” Crowe had perked up, raising an eyebrow “Do go on. You have picked my interest.” Sidney had regretted it, and changed the subject swiftly, hoping to distract him, who was even more inebriated. He turned Crowe’s attention to two women who had come in, and it worked. But that was counting without Babington perceptiveness, who procured a fifth bottle, and, halfway through, asked him: “So, what happened at the cove? Do not offend me by thinking you can distract me as easily as you did him.” They both looked at Crowe, who was still at the table but talking to one of the women who had approached them. Sidney’s mind was hazy, and, for some reason, he wanted to tell. “I came out of the water, fully nude, and saw Miss Heywood standing there.” Babington burst in a loud laugh, and Crowe immediately rejoined the conversation: “Sanditon does have some entertainment, after all”. They were grinning from ear to ear, waiting to hear more. Sidney downed his whiskey. “I don’t know what came over me, but instead of apologizing or covering myself, I told her that it seemed I could not escape her.” Babington chuckled: “Smooth, Sidney. Smooth.” “Settle down. She said I was the last person she wished to see, and then she ran away.” They both laughed, and, he had to give in, he laughed to. It had felt good on the moment, but he understood now that the teasing would never stop. They forced him up. Bored of Sanditon, they wanted to get away to London as soon as possible. He gladly took the opportunity, and got ready to go take his leave from Tom and Mary. 

Once in the street, he looked around, making sure she was nowhere to be seen. He was hoping that he would not have to face her before going to London. With his blurred mind, he could still feel the shame that she had run away. The shame that he had somehow conjured her when pleasuring himself. Tom was reluctant to let him leave, of course; he held strong, but could tell Tom was agitated. He admired his brother’s sense of enterprise, his ambition, but he could not help but think that Sanditon felt more and more like a risk. It could not be that his brother’s financial stability relied on Sidney having two friends who could rent apartments. Was he really to be expected to do most of the job of advertising Sanditon? Tom spoke again: “How am I to feel these empty houses, Sidney? I confess… I’m relying…” He stalled, and Sidney looked up, then followed Tom’s gaze. Of course, Miss Heywood was under the desk, scrambling for some papers. He quickly understood that she was helping Tom with the accounting, for how would she even be in his study otherwise? “Miss Heywood” he greeted her “always popping up when least expected.” He looked at her as she stood up, unflinching. She looked… angry. He marveled that her face had so many expressions. “I’ll leave you to it, gentlemen.” It was unnerving that she was always there, and that Tom and Mary had let her take so much space in their intimacy. He breathed in a sigh of anger, breathed out in relief, and braced himself to continue to hold his ground with Tom. He had to impose limits to his reputation being so intricately linked to Sanditon.   
The rest of the day was just more frustration. Georgiana was acting out, and he was forced to stay behind to take care of it, just as he had managed to extricate himself from here. “Are you not content here?” he asked her. “You have companions, have you not? Those sisters…” Georgiana scoffed: “Please. I am quite miserable and you know it. The twins are idiots, and if it were not for Miss Heywood….” Sidney could not believe his ears, and snapped: “Her again. What, have you two become the best of friends, now?” Georgiana lowered her eyes, and he felt bad for how he had approached this conversation. She had a broken heart, and he of all people could understand that, even if he was responsible for separating them. Maybe she had been more depressed than he had realized. He closed the door to the room: “I am sorry. Do take care with Miss Heywood. I do not approve of the friendship. She is too opinionated for her own good, and I can only imagine what the two of you might get up to.” Georgiana perked up in sarcasm: “What has she done to deserve your admiration? I like her more for it.” Of course, he bumped into her while he was exiting Georgiana’s room. They bumped chests, quite brutally, and he forgot about his resolve to be more civil with her. “It seems I cannot escape you. I was just leaving.” She said nothing. He felt bad immediately. Did he need to tell her that as far as he was concerned, she was everywhere? He wondered for a moment what she felt about the fact that they always seemed to be pushed in the same place by circumstances. From what she had said the night before, she did not like it. She did not like him. And he had done nothing to gain her respect. Tongue-lashings, she had called it. She had schooled him, and yet he kept going. Was he really angry at her, or was he angry at Tom? 

In the afternoon, he sat reading the newspaper in Tom’s study, and Miss Heywood barged in, unwelcome. What he was most angry at, perhaps, was that she had reasons to dislike him, and it made him feel ashamed that she did. It reminded him that several years ago, before his heart had withered so, he would likely have leaned into his attraction for her and would not have behaved that way. But that was not to be. “The ubiquitous Miss Heywood. Can’t I read the news in peace?” He sounded exasperated, and had expended his patience for the day on other people. This time, she responded, though: “If you don’t wish to be disturbed, you might choose somewhere more secluded.” Point taken. He still would not look at her, but he responded: “yes well, I tried that. Wasn’t entirely successful.” He looked at her, then. He would have the last word. It seemed that somewhere, deep down, not only did he not want to let himself forget that she had seen him naked, he also did not want to let her forget it. He held her gaze, but Tom chose this moment to appear. 

It was much later when he was walking in the street, and heard a commotion near the construction site. He ran, and saw a man on the ground. Old Stringer, on a bed of rubbles, and a pool of blood was forming near his leg. He ran closer, and was suddenly aware that, kneeling next to the fallen man was Miss Heywood. He took off his coat and placed it under the man’s legs for support. He and miss Heywood looked at each other. Someone had to get the doctor. He turned to Young Stringer, instead of Miss Heywood, registering only after the fact that it would have made more sense to ask the lady to run for the doctor. She turned to him to say that they needed to stop the bleeding, and he just looked at her, stunned that she would turn to him, stunned that she knew how to take care of a wound. She stood then, and he understood what she meant to do. She was trying to tear a piece of her undergarment to tie it around Old Stringer’s leg. He would not assume she needed help, though, before she asked. He had assumed enough, concerning her. “Could one of you…?” He rushed to take care of it, tore the white cloth and handed it back to her immediately. She was in charge. He just looked at her.   
It was only once they were inside, Charlotte asking for the necessary things, continuing to command people by her presence of mind, that he asked himself why she had been out near the construction site in the first place. Near Young Stringer. They put the man on the table, as the doctor got ready. Sidney pulled up his sleeves, and he saw Charlotte remove her coat and hat. He watched her answering the doctor, while she softly placed a cushion under Stringer’s head. He became aware that Young Stringer’s presence was not ideal, and talked him into waiting outside. That only left him and Charlotte assisting the doctor. Fuchs told Charlotte to look away, and even in the urgency of the situation, Sidney knew that the doctor was about to be sorely mistaken. Charlotte was making Old Stringer drink, and she turned to look at Sidney. “Take his hand”, she ordered. He did what she told him to. “Hold him still, Mister Parker.” He moved around wordlessly to follow her command. 

In the commotion that followed, he lost sight of her, and went to look outside. There she was, and he felt as though he had walked in on something intimate. Young Stringer was holding both of her hands in his, and Sidney felt envy. While he was busy making her dislike him, consciously or not, it seemed she had gained the admiration of the handsome Mr. Stringer. As he approached, Stringer released her hand, and he heard him apologizing to her for the liberty he had taken. “Your father will be glad to see you now” Sidney said, happy to intrude. He watched him leave, then looked pointedly at Charlotte. They both turned away, him heading to the inn, her back inside. But he could not, and he turned back, called her name. Not her first name, the one he had taken to use in his mind. The other one. “I must admit, Miss Heywood, you’ve given a good account of yourself today.” She looked back, intrigued. “I should never have expected you to be so… capable.” There, a compliment. He thought a bit too late that it may not sound like one. There was a silence, then. She walked a few steps towards him as she responded, teasing: “Because I am a young woman?” He looked up to the sky. Of course, she would bicker. “Or because up until now, you’ve dismissed me as young and frivolous?” He admitted that the question was pertinent, and deserved an honest answer. Perhaps it was time to make amends. “A little bit of both, I dare say.” He looked in her eyes, hoping to convey how sorry he was for having underestimated her. He smiled quickly, deciding upon voicing his apology: “Forgive me.” Was it the second time he apologized, already? He waited for her answer, and did not realize until then that he was holding his breath. “How could I not, since I’m equally guilty of dismissing you.” Her voice was rougher than he had first realized. More mature. He took the opportunity to ask her what she had to say about him. After all, that is why he had first stricken up a conversation with her, at the ball. He somehow needed to hear her opinions about him, more than about anything else. She proceeded to tell him that he did not help Tom enough. That he was not sympathetic enough as Georgiana’s guardian. He defended himself, had his arguments ready, but her words made sense, and more than before, he understood they did not come from a place of judgment, but one of care. Miss Heywood cared, and she wanted him to care too. He was listening to her, but lost track of what she said because he was admiring her, and when she caught him staring, she assumed he was about to give her another tongue-lashing, as she put it. He just smiled. He had told her he did not care, after all. It was time to set things straight. “I invited your opinion,” he said, “and for once, I think that there is some small value in what you say”, he held her gaze. “Coming from you”, she responded, “I shall own that as the greatest compliment imaginable.” It is, he thought. She was avoiding his gaze, still. He smiled to her, and moved to take his leave, leaving her words hanging. 

But he felt like talking more. It felt comfortable to exchange words with her, and he gave himself the pleasure to go on. He wanted to know how she felt about seeing him, at the cove. He decided to mention it. “Miss Heywood”, he started, turning back towards her, “I’ve been meaning to say… our meeting… down at the cove…” He looked at her, but soon looked away “I hope you weren’t too embarrassed.” He looked back at her, preparing her answer. “Why should I be embarrassed? I was fully clothed.” She was holding her gaze, seeing right through him, it felt. The way she said that word was almost painful to him. His stomach made a strange dropping movement. What had he gotten himself into, with this conversation? Is that how she was going to play her cards? “Yes” he looked away, stalling, “very good point…” He found his confidence again: “Well, it was hardly fair of you to…” he hesitated and thought of their encounter, smiled, and fully looked at her now, “ambush me like that.” He had shocked her: “I can assure you it was not deliberate on my part…” He cut her: “Nor mine”. She was looking down, but he wanted her to look at him. She did: “Well then.” He was satisfied: “Well, then.” And for only a moment, in this truce, they looked at each other. He saw her smile, and realized that unlike her polite smiles from the ball, this one was for him. She was enjoying his presence, truly. They both looked away, suddenly aware of how inappropriate it was. He looked at her once more, bid her good day, and left before he could ruin the moment. 

Back in his room, he finally had to admit to himself that Miss Heywood was not what he expected. She was a question mark, just beginning to unravel before him, and he found himself a bit fascinated. What had he just tried to do? He had seen her with Stringer, and immediately had wanted her to himself. Sidney was not unintelligent in the matters of the heart, albeit a bit rusty. He understood where this attraction was taking him, and resolved to proceed with the utmost care. He realized that, without Crowe and Babington here, he was free to go enjoy some time with his nephews. He walked to the house, and found Mary with the children downstairs. He offered to take them to play by the river. He relished those times, and somehow, he felt even more tender with them than usual today. It had been eventful, and after his drunken night and hazy morning, it felt like a well-deserved reprieve. 

He was aware that Tom spent little time with the children these days. He thought, sadly, that if he had had the chance to have a family with Eliza, he would have loved to be a dotting father. When nobody was looking, he allowed himself to play with the children, laugh with them. He loved them all, and they seemed to love him too. There was something so reassuring and soothing about the kind of simple, intense love his nephews held for him. He did not need to scold them so they would stay away. They were playing with boats, at the moment. They stayed playing for a while, in the late afternoon, and they were getting ready for another boat race when he saw Alicia and Jenny running in the other direction, to greet Charlotte, who had come to call them back to the house for dinner. Jenny hugged her, even. He felt, in the way she looked at him, that something had shifted in the way they now related. There was more care, more openness. The truth is, he felt very exposed, but he did not mind her seeing him like this. This was perhaps him even more naked, and this time, she could look without turning away. The sheer domesticity of their joining in the children’s game, addressing them with different voices, was almost a slap in the face. “Can we not rewrite our history,” she asked, “if we find it disagreeable.” It seems it would always take him some time now to ponder what she told him, while he looked at her. When they were done with the race, he saw something in her face change, as she was taking in the surroundings with a frown he was now understanding meant she was thinking. “What is it?” he asked, and it sounded familiar, like he knew her. He almost hoped that she would share a bit of herself with him. But no, it was an idea: a regatta. He was startled, for a moment. As a man of enterprise himself, he admired her sense of business. She had come to Sanditon as a guest, and it seemed she had taken on Tom’s project like her own. “Miss Heywood. You should always share your ideas if they are this good.” She blushed, and he was rewarded with a smile. He was aware that he had spent a considerable amount of tongue demeaning her opinions, and hoped that this would help make amends. They rushed back to announce the idea to Tom, and as he listened to her describe it enthusiastically, he looked down, smiling. Lost in his thoughts, he heard her say “they’ll fall in love with the place”. He looked up at her, “Just as I have”, she continued. She felt him look, and looked at him in return. “Anyway…” He looked down again, smiling. He liked to hear her say love, but was too peaceful tonight to ask himself what that meant. He would not let Tom take all the credit, nonetheless, as he was already doing. He shared a few amused looks with Charlotte, which made him feel like they were accomplices. 

He enjoyed a drink with Tom later, upstairs. And when, as was expected, Tom asked her for more of his help, more of his time, he got annoyed and frustrated, and started answering with his temper flaring. That is when he saw Charlotte playing with Alicia in the next room, and stopped in his tracks. He remembered what she had admonished him for. His brother was struggling, and as the sensible brother, not the indebted one, he had to help. When Tom left the room, he allowed himself to smile and gaze at the girls. 

They reached the beach at sunset, the children running around the four adults as they strolled peacefully. He let enough space fall between Tom and Mary and himself and Charlotte before talking to her. He wanted to ask her to keep an eye on Georgiana, since they seemed to be good friends. “I thought you considered me to be a bad influence.” Oh. She knew about that. He smiled. The good thing about walking together was how little you technically had to face the other. It made it easier than their usual staring and looking down game. He looked at her and felt himself smiling a true, earnest smile. “Well…” he looked at the sea, “is it conceivable that we’ve had each other wrong” he turned to her, “Admiral Heywood”. Sidney knew he could be charming, and he put a softness in these last two words that he had not been capable of in a long time. He smiled again, encouraging her to accept this peace. They walked in silence then. What a difference a day makes. He was almost sorry to leave for London the next day. This. It felt like hope.


	4. The Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahoy, if it's not another steamy one!

Fighting his way from the edge of sleep, Sidney stirred in the bed. He had slept better that night than he had in weeks. He had felt such peace the night before, after the walk on the beach, privy to Charlotte’s smiles. Yesterday had been a whirlwind. He thought of her alertness during the crisis. At the way she had taken his teasing and turned it over to him as they spoke in the middle of the street. He thought of how when she’d leaned to help Old Stringer drink, he had seen nothing but her breasts. He had been shocked to feel himself grow hard, in the midst of such a brutal and crucial moment, just from the sight of her breasts straining to spill out of her dress. They were the roundest and perkiest he had ever seen, and it had taken him pain to look anywhere but there. She had only made his erection worse by proceeding to order him around. Sidney was surprised that she had had that effect then. He was surprised she had that effect now, for he very much grew hard against the mattress, half asleep still. In the calm and quiet of the early morning, he allowed himself to think about her a bit more. His body wanted to touch her, and he wanted to know her. He wanted to know if she perhaps she thought of him. There was a chance he was the first naked man she had ever seen, and he wondered whether she entertained this type of thoughts. He imagined her lying in her bed at Trafalgar House, on her side, like him, several feet away, a bed he had often slept in himself. He imagined that she would be the type to know exactly how she wanted things, even before she had ever experienced them. He had already observed that what Charlotte lacked in experience, she compensated for in boldness and spontaneity. She was probably – or would be – a delightful lover. He grew harder, still. “Take his hand”, she had ordered. “Hold him still, Mr Parker!” she had told him. 

If he shared a bed with her, he would take her hand, bring it to his lips and kiss it, then he would ask her what she wanted him to do. She would give him one of her signature smiles, the intimate one, the one that started with fast stretching of her lips, like she was trying to hold it, and then fully opened up. “I thought you considered me a bad influence”. Such a bad influence. He had already thought of her once while pleasuring himself, and was apparently ready to do it again. He thought of her voice when she said “Mr. Parker”, imagined her telling him she wanted it fast, before everyone in the house woke up. He would oblige then, caressing her full breast with one hand, and taking himself in hand to drive himself into her with the other one. She would be on her side. Yes. That way, he could touch her breasts, the curve of her waist, which those dresses hid but he imagined would be delightful, he would kiss her neck, the mole he had noticed the other day. He pumped himself faster, resisting the primal urge to actually move into the mattress. She would moan his name. How he wished he could hear her say his given name as he gave her pleasure. Her chestnut curls would be in his face – he imagined what she could smell like. He was never close enough to her to smell her real essence. He imagined wild flowers, the sea, a delicate soap, but also sweat, and heat, and just her. “Hold me still!” She would move on her back, he would enter her again, “Faster”, he would drive in and out of her with madness, he did not dare look her in the eyes, but he would kiss her breast, her nipple, lick in between. She would cry out, then, his name. His name. He let himself go completely, in a climax more intense than the one yesterday, even. It was high time he left Sanditon for London. 

The next week went by slowly. His London life held few amusements he truly enjoyed. The house, too quiet, too empty, did not feel like a home. He wondered whether he truly spent so much energy and time helping Tom because he felt that he owed him for having paid back his debts after the Eliza debacle, or if he thought of it rather as investing in someone else’s happiness and family to avoid thinking that he himself lacked both. He felt a pang in his chest, most times, whenever he thought of how much Mary, Tom’s wife, bore his enthusiasm and ambitions, how she made a home for them. He went to speak to five different bankers, but it seemed Tom’s enterprise now needed to deliver on its promises instead of spending more money. There was nothing more he could do. He headed back to Sanditon with the bad news. 

As he sat having tea with Mary, he inquired about Miss Heywood’s whereabouts. She had apparently taken his favor seriously, as her and Georgiana were together at this moment. He thought of how ridiculous he was to be slightly infatuated with a woman who was young enough to become bosom friends with his ward. But he dismissed the thought, and told Mary he would go and visit Georgiana now, and that perhaps he would find Miss Heywood still with her. He smiled, for he did not need to hide his smiles from Mary, his sweet sister, who had never looked at him as the wretched man everybody else had deemed him to be. If she thought anything of the comment, she was smart and kind enough to hide it. They understood each other without words. This time, it seemed words were necessary, nonetheless. “You seem more poised, more at peace. I am happy to see it. Are you?” He smiled at her: “I am, Mary. Maybe it’s the sea air.” She looked at him stand up to leave: “Say hello to Georgiana for me. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

The poise left him as soon as Mrs. Griffith uttered the words. A picnic with Mary and Tom, whom he had just seen at their house. He was immediately alert. If he knew something about trying to keep two people from seeing one another, and about desperate love, he knew that something unpleasant was happening this very minute. He stormed out, and went to look for them where he thought Miss Heywood would fancy a picnic, near the sea, on the clifftops. They were nowhere to be found. He cursed Georgiana, and he cursed Miss Heywood even more. For he had trusted her, and she had visibly broken that trust. He had thought they understood one another. The more he looked for them, the angrier and more frustrated he became. What had he done to deserve such a responsibility as to be Georgiana’s guardian? It seemed that however he went about things, he always did it wrong. He was only accomplishing Mark Lambe’s wishes for her. And he owed Mark much more than that, but he wished Georgiana was not so lively and impetuous. She had fallen in love, and he had separated them. All the wanted for her was not to become someone’s money ticket. Apparently, both men and women loved money enough to find it a good enough reason to marry. There was marrying comfortably, or slightly above your station, and then there was marrying wealthy. He was trying for Georgiana not to become the wealthy bride of a mercenary man. Is that what he thought Eliza had been? Mercenary? The whole situation reminded him too much of the bashful lover he had himself been. Of the pain he had felt. He wanted to spare Georgiana that pain, not drive her into it. He kept failing. 

Anger. That was what he felt as he opened the door to the inn and caught the three of them, Georgiana, Otis and Charlotte, chatting around the London post. They were not able to see them yet, but he could hear Charlotte. Pain. She was doing an impression of him, for their amusement. “gallivanting around London with my high society friends.” He felt anger, but also disappointment. That was what she thought of him. He saw her realize he was there, freezing. “No do go on,” he told her, his voice as cold as it had ever been, “I’m intrigued to hear what I might say next.” He walked towards them, vaguely aware of everyone in the street looking. He hated to play the role of the stern guardian, so stern that the impression had struck a chord. She was now urging him to allow them a proper parting, and he told her to keep her place. They were left alone when the carriage left, and Georgiana went back with Mrs Griffiths. If she wanted to fight, she would get a fight. “Did we not agree that you would look out for Georgiana? Keep her out of trouble?” She looked at him in defiance, and he scoffed. “I should have known you were not to be trusted.” She was infuriating, assuming she knew the situation when she had no idea about Mr. Molyneux’s debts and gambling. Of course, given how naïve she was, all she could see was big bad Sidney Parker separating two young innocent people in love. Things got even more heated, they both did not care that they were in the middle of the street, in a very public argument. When she told him her true assumption, that he was acting out of racial prejudice because his fortune was tainted with slavery, he positively bellowed at her “That is enough!” and she stopped, shocked into silence. They were both breathing hard, and he just looked at her, searching her eyes. He wondered why he wanted to justify himself so much in front of her. She was frowning, holding strong, and he was overwhelmed with the need to kiss her. To kiss her into understanding him. To kiss her into silence. Into submission. He had never desired someone this much, nor yelled at a woman like this before. He realized he had leaned towards her, and straightened himself, took a deep breath. She was still breathing quickly. “I do not need to justify myself to you.” He noticed out of all the people looking, that Mr. Stringer was there. In his anger, Sidney asked him to please see her back to Trafalgar House, and he stormed off without another word. 

To make matters worse, Tom refused to understand that the banks would not grant him another loan. Tom became insistent, unravelling, asking him what he was supposed to do now. He could not help but think how right Charlotte had been in her first impression of Tom. Sidney felt his patience wavering, and, for the first time in a long while, yelled at his brother “Why not try living within your means? That might help!”. He regretted it immediately. “I’m sorry.” He paused. “But I’ve done everything you asked of me, Tom. I am not your keeper. I will gladly own my mistakes. But I cannot own yours.” He walked out of the study, and almost bumped into Charlotte. They greeted each other as coldly as possible, while avoiding each other’s gaze. He lingered longer in the parlor, looking straight ahead. This is why Sidney did not let himself lean into sudden attractions. They always were a terrible idea, and he visibly had an awful taste in women. He took his coat, and went in search of a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments!


	5. The Throw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 5 is another rollercoaster for Sidney's feelings!

Sidney had fled Sanditon as fast as he could, determined to leave behind the many pressures that stifled him. He had done right by Tom, had tried his best to help with the bankers, with promoting Sanditon. As far as Georgiana was concerned, the last event had convinced him to give up. She was too impetuous, too reckless. He simply could not tie his life to Sanditon just to make sure she did not throw away her life on a whim. Mrs Griffiths was a professional. He would release his duty completely to her responsibility, and he would take the opportunity to get away from Tom and his schemes. Sanditon felt more and more like shaky ground. Sidney would go to Dew Parks, Babington’s country estate with him, for the rest of the summer. After that, he would perhaps try to expand his commerce with France, and settle in Bordeaux for a while. He needed to get away, or his entire life would be taken over by Tom and by Georgiana. He had been away from Sanditon for a fortnight, already, and the relief was great. He had not properly said his goodbyes to Tom, Mary and the children, and he needed to announce his departure to Georgiana. He was reluctant to do both, and postponed it all. It made it easy to accept when Babington, having received an unexpected letter from Esther Denham, asked him to accompany him to Sanditon on the occasion of the cricket match. Sidney would have to play – Tom had written and asked him to come play three times already. 

In the carriage, he forced himself not to think of the other thing that had been on his mind constantly, that he needed to free himself from. Charlotte Heywood and her accusations. He acknowledged, with time, that she had reasons to assume – especially if her main source of information concerning him was Georgiana, his aggravated ward. The assumptions had stung more and deeper. He was smart enough to know that as much as he wanted to assert that he did not need to justify himself to her, it was all he thought about sometimes, ever since that day. The more he tried not to think about her, the least he could escape her. The attraction was persistent, and for that, too, he could not get away quickly enough. 

It was with some trepidation that he knocked at Trafalgar house upon arriving. Tom seemed glad to see him, but immediately and irrationally asked whether he could try one last time… Did Tom expect him to go back to see the same bankers that had laughed in his face already? “Tom, please, stop! I can’t be drawn on the situation any longer.” Sidney observed Tom’s behavior and found it to be more erratic, more nervous than usual. He heard the steps before he saw her, an apparition in white and rosy cheeks and she did not look happy to see him. He immediately looked away, exasperated at his own disappointment, before he stood up to greet her. There was so much restrained sarcasm in her greeting. He returned it on the same tone. Two could play that game. Still he would not look at her. Tom left them with some words, but Sidney was not listening. They were left in the most awkward silence, filled with tension. He did not know where to look. The wall, the floor, her. He exhaled audibly, aware that this was not the breathing of a calm, aloof man. “I assume you’re here for the cricket, Mr. Parker.” The floor. “Never short of assumptions, Miss Heywood.” Here they were, enemies again. He smiled a forced, sarcastic smile, and she scoffed. “Well, I was not expecting to see you back so soon.” There was a barely concealed anger in her face. “Believe me. Neither was I.” Mary interrupted their niceties, and he hugged her, perhaps the only person truly happy to see him. He took leave of both of them, and made a point to head straight for Miss Heywood on his way out of the room. He wanted her to acknowledge his presence, to have to move out of the way to avoid touching him. She did. He smelled a whiff of her perfume on the way out, and felt the anger flare in him. He had missed her. How vain men were, he thought to himself. He had wanted her to be charming, to show delight in seeing him. Her indifference was a slap in the face. His lack of indifference was perhaps an even sharper blow. 

He went to Mrs. Griffiths’s to announce his departure, and settle the account. As he was saying it, he could feel the pressure release, but the guilt settled in immediately; Georgiana had entered the room, and he did not have the courage to tell her of his decision. He felt truly awful for breaking his dead friend’s trust. He told himself he needed to get away from Sanditon because of Tom, and that it had the benefit of taking him also away from Georgiana’s antics. He knew that it looked like he was running away from his responsibilities. It looked like it because that is what he was doing. 

At the cricket, something felt rotten from the start. The workers were not on time. Tom was exceedingly on edge. Miss Heywood was positively fleeing his presence. He also overheard a cheerful, flirty conversation between her and Stringer that made him want to jump out of his skin. Surely he had only himself to blame, as he had been the one to ask Stringer to walk her back. It seemed they had gotten closer, and Stringer looked ten seconds away from proposing marriage. She turned quickly, and she caught him looking. He looked down immediately. “Good luck to you too, Mister Parker. Although I imagine you don’t think you’ll need it.” He smiled, because the difference in her tone with what he had just overheard stung more than he liked to admit. “Yet more assumptions, miss Heywood.” He finished his glass, and took his place on the field. He tried to focus on the game, but would frequently find himself swiftly checking that she was looking before making a move. 

When it was revealed that Tom had not paid the workers in weeks, all slotted into place for Sidney. He had noticed the signs, hoped to be wrong, but Tom was in deeper trouble than he originally thought. He left the game, and as usual, Sidney was left to bear the consequences. That was counting without Charlotte, who stepped up and said she would join their team. He accepted it before it was even a question, eager despite himself to see where this would go. A game was like a truce. As she was getting ready to play, he could not resist approaching her. “Keep your eyes on the ball, alright?” Her hair was flying about with the wind, and she had taken off her spencer and her hat. She was leaning down, and truly he could tell she knew what she was doing. He just had to talk to her. He could tell she was annoyed. “I know what I’m doing.” She may have been annoyed, but this was the least angry at him she had been in a while. It was the least angry he had been at her, too. “If you can’t make the run, just stay put.” “Yes. Thank you. I know exactly what I’m doing…Now please. I’m concentrating and you’re putting me off.” She sounded annoyed, refreshingly so, for something fleeting and unimportant, not for a great breech of his character, or because he had lashed out at her. He nodded in acknowledgement of what she had said, and allowed himself to look at her. She was possibly the most adorable he had seen her so far. “Alright,” he said, and walked backwards. He truly let himself enjoy the game, then. He laughed, and smiled. As they got closer to winning, he found himself feeling excited for it. He was creating a mental catalog of her frowning concentrating expressions, filing them somewhere secret in his mind. She walked towards him after they won and told him in voice full of joy “Was that a smile I detected?”, and he walked towards her too, “Oh I doubt it.” But he was smiling, again, free of his anger. She was looking at him too, like she was assessing him. Seconds later he turned and she was there again. “Well done, Miss Heywood.” “Thank you.” It seemed they had made a kind of peace. Every time, he found himself more drawn to her. 

After Mrs Griffiths told them of Georgiana’s disappearance, he saw her running of to town. He followed in her steps, half in anger, half in worry that Georgiana had actually ran away and not just escaped their vigilance to go for a walk. She was nowhere to be found, and as he was pacing in Mrs Griffiths’s parlor Charlotte entered the room, addressing him, but he cut her “Georgiana has disappeared of the face of the earth. No one has seen her anywhere…” he could hear the concern in his voice. He was grateful that in this, he was not alone, as she looked as concerned as he was. Mrs Griffiths and Stringer entered next, and as he explained what had been seen, Charlotte asked whether the man that Georgiana was meeting was black. He turned to her: “Why would you ask that?” He quickly thanked Stringer, who was only looking at Charlotte when he said that he hoped they would find her. Suddenly, Sidney needed to be alone with Charlotte. She knew something, and he had a bad feeling about it all. He took a few steps away from her and turned to face her again. “You know something, don’t you?” He managed to keep his calm as she was slowly revealing that she had acted as a go-between, but felt utterly dejected by the time she was done. “You forgot.” He repeated, not quite believing it. His anger flared up and he yelled at her, no doubt punishing her for having made her way to his heart again. She was apologizing. He got as close to her as possible, taking his hat, his voice menacing: “If anything happens to her, anything, it will be on your head. Do you understand me?” Perhaps he would have been less angry, less harsh, if he had not felt deeply his own guilt in having taken the decision to leave Georgiana to her own devices. This was what he got for giving away his responsibilities. He could blame Charlotte all he wanted, he was as guilty as her. And Georgiana had to be found.


	6. The Spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! Please leave comments and suggestions!

The Spin

Sidney had left in a great hurry for London, on horseback. His mind was racing, his thoughts muddled, and by the time he got to London, he was bone-tired, and sick of his own thoughts. He went from guilt to anger to worry, back and forth, without respite. He stopped quickly at the house, and Mrs Henkins told him that his brother had arrived a mere few hours earlier, and was out. Sidney did not have time to change. He had brought with him some letters he had found in Georgiana’s room that bore an address for Mr. Molyneux. He did not wish to push his curiosity to reading them, however. He knew only too well the depth of a first love.

Upon approaching the address, in a less than proper London neighborhood, he heard a woman’s voice down the dark alley. She sounded like she was struggling and he ran without hesitation. An errant man was holding her as she was debating herself, and she seemed too well-dressed for this alley. He saw him pull out a knife, and he immediately tore him away, punched him a few times, before hitting his head against the wall. It felt undeniably good to expel some of the violence he had been feeling. The man fled, and Sidney turned to the woman. She was standing up. It was Charlotte. He could not believe his eyes, and yet it was her, breathless, saying his name. “Are you alright?” he asked. They had been lucky. He allowed her to regain her composure, and took her small bag from her to carry it. He led her to the carriage, intent upon sending her immediately to the house where she could find Tom. He talked to her with all the anger that had not completely escaped him yet. She was unconscious to walk around this area alone. Now he would have the added burden of looking after her. As he said so, he saw a man approaching her again, grabbed him violently, and threw him to the side. It felt good, also, to let his protective, possessive instincts go freely. “What do you suppose would have happened, had I not arrived at that moment?” The thought alone brought bile to his throat. The man would have no doubt tried to have his way with her, to force himself on her. He was surprised to find out that she had come without Mary’s approval. She had come alone, on the coach. To this rotten area of London. She also was naïve enough to think Molyneux had nothing to do with Georgiana’s disappearance, it seemed. He opened the door to the carriage and waved her in. She looked at him then, and told him that since she was in large part to blame for what happened – as he had so well explained to her the day before – she wanted the chance to help put it to right. He did not see how that could be useful, but could understand why she had come. Her “please”, with that tone, and her pleading face, almost broke his resolve. She truly had the power to work him up to the brightest anger in a second, only to soothe him back to compassion in the next minute. He leaned slightly closer, “You’ve done enough”, he pleaded, and told her with his eyes that it was time to get inside.

In the enclosed space of the carriage, as they rode in silence, he could smell her, and it surrounded him. He remembered having wished to smell her, but felt the irony that it had to be at such a moment. No wonder that she had attracted attention in the alley; she was as fresh as ever, her open, pretty face inviting. He should have probably sat down across from her, as was proper, but he wanted to sit close to her. After all, she must still be shaken from the aggression. It also allowed him to not look at her, while she challenged him about Mr. Molyneux and, again, his own association with slavery. He explained himself to her then, as he had wanted to do it for so long. He did not really think her that naïve. It was normal that, having not been associated with the same kind of people, she would expect that marriage was all about love and affection, and not about money. She surprised him again, with a new track. It was also her who, later, kept enough of a cold head to question why someone would steal Otis’s post. It became clear Georgiana had been taken. If she had not appeased him, he would have beaten Mr. Molyneux. But for some reason, she was there, close, and he listened to her, and she was right. That would do no good. He was overwhelmed with how dire the situation was, and yet here she was, finding solutions, not giving up. He admired her tenacity. It was a good thing to have Charlotte Heywood on your side, apparently.  
His shame flared up, stupidly, even in the midst of the crisis, when it appeared unavoidable that he had to take her to the “boarding house”. He had frequented it heavily for years, and still occasionally went, although not in a few months. Sidney did think of himself as having needs that demanded his attention, and this was a simple, painless way of taking care of that. He was harsh to her, in the carriage, as she defended Mr. Molyneux, reminding her that even without meaning too, she too had put Georgiana in danger. She was turning away from him, as far as the crammed space of the carriage would allow, still smelling of wild flower and something citrus-like, and something else, undescribable. There, they had the first open and honest conversation they had had in weeks. She was reproaching him with his lack of care for Georgiana, and he was defending himself, instead of scoffing and dismissing her. The truth was, he cared about her opinion. “You are determined to remain an outlier.” That pierced right through him. “God forbid you give anything of yourself.” _I would give all of myself to you if you could take it._ Instead, he raised his voice, annoyed at her assumptions again: “Please do not presume to know my mind.” _You have no idea why I behave like this._ “How could anyone know your mind? You take pains to be unknowable.” For all the pains he had taken, she still had ended up piercing right through the pretense. She knew him, and that is why he mostly evaded her gaze at all times. Why he got so supremely angry with her assumptions. Most of them were right. Straight to the core. It was deeply unsettling. On the topic of love, he had to counter her. “And what do you know of love? Apart from what you’ve read.” He heard the disdain in his own words before he could take it back. Is that what it was about? Was he angry that she could afford to be so optimistic? That life had not broken her yet, and probably never would if he could help it? Nobody deserved to feel the way he had. “I would sooner be naïve than insensible of feeling.” It was as close to a slap as she was ever going to get. All the fight oozed out of him instantly, as he looked at her. “Is that really what you think of me?”, he avoided her piercing eyes and looked outside, “I am sorry that you think that.” _I either feel nothing or I feel too much. Charlotte_. “How much easier my life would have been if I were.” They were silent then, until he got off the carriage and told her to not step out of it.  
He entered the noisy, stifling room and immediately wanted to run back to her. He felt cracked open, extremely uncomfortable, and it made this place feel like hell. He hated that the madame could address him by name. He noticed that she had followed him, and that she had heard everything. Just seeing her there made him want to run back outside with her. How despicable he was to have drawn her to this place. The way she retorted “Gracious no!” at the madame’s assumption that she was his wife stung, which made him angry. “Is this your idea of love, something to be paid for?” She asked on their way out. The words resonated more than they should. He did not want to pay for it. He desperately wanted for love to be free. To be entrusted to someone else. This had not been about love. Little of his life was.  
Later, when Georgiana was safe and secure in the London house, she asked about Otis, and he tried to convince her that it was not her concern now. “Whatever he’s done, I cannot just cauterize my heart. I am not you.” His eyes darted to Charlotte, who was looking at him with understanding. He felt raw and guilty, and he owed her the consolation, so he told Georgiana, despite Charlotte being present, that her world at the moment felt undone, that he knew that, with a softness he was starting to feel. That she had to put him from her mind or she would go mad. And he left the room.  
He thought about what Charlotte had said. About how it felt when Eliza had married someone else without an explanation or a goodbye. So he went to get Otis, and arranged to pay off his debt. Thanks to Tom, Sidney had had a second chance, maybe Otis deserved his. It seemed there was no rest to be had that day, and that Tom needed them to promote Sanditon and the regatta at some ball. He looked pointedly at Charlotte when Babington, in his usual warm manner, asked her to come with them, and noticed she was not her usual self. She seemed out of sorts, downcast. He realized then that she had travelled all the way from Sanditon on the post, been attacked, and probably scared alone in those alleys, and that she had been there all along, next to him, tenaciously working on saving Georgiana. She was declining the ball, which made sense. But it was high time for him to make amends.  
He found her later in the upstairs parlor, and pretexted that Tom had sent him to ask her to reconsider. She was sitting alone, pensive, her chin in her hand, in a most unladylike manner that made him want to gather her up in his arms and take her to his room. He put as much softness in his voice as he had put disdain and anger before. She had had enough of that for the day, and to be honest with himself, he was not so sure any more that she had deserved any of it. Yet here she was, apologizing. He interrupted her. That would not do. He walked towards her, as she had stood up, “I do not accept your apology.” God, how he liked to shut her up. “Why not?”, she asked, fearful of no doubt another tongue-lashing. He was a brute for ever reaching a point in her esteem when she had to look at him with dread. “Because I’m the one that should apologize.” He somehow tried to lean closer: “I’ve done you a great discourtesy, Miss Heywood. I’ve underestimated you.” He could not hold her gaze for too long. He looked up with a small smile, and left the room.  
There were two hours before the ball, when Sidney heard Charlotte come down to ask Tom whether she could still join them, and whether Mary would have a dress she could wear. Later on, down the stairs, as she descending towards him, Sidney felt entirely in awe, and too exhausted to hide it. She looked glorious, the golden dress making her look angelic, while revealing too much of her bosom. He felt like they were alone, and suddenly felt powerless to resist. He searched her gaze, and she seemed to be unsure why. “Does it not suit me?” She looked down in doubt. “Will it not do?” It was strange to realize that such an open, honest and frank person could doubt herself, but here she was. He smiled in amusement, and reassurance, even though it likely betrayed too much affection. “It will do very well”, he risked a smile, looking sheepishly at her. She stared back in wonder. In the carriage, he looked at her as she chatted with Tom across from him, as her arms moved, and he thought that this was perhaps the first compliment he had made her, apart from that one time he had told her he thought she was partly right. She was a wonder, and he had waited weeks to understand how precious such a person was, regardless of what might happen, or how attracted he was or did not want to be. He resolved to not shy away from complimenting her. She had had a trying time, and she had risen ten times to the occasion, strong when he needed her to be, firm too, and smart.

They entered the ball room and put on their masks, and he felt the now-familiar pang of jealousy and anger when Crowe asked him to be introduced to the spellbinding creature. She gave a witty retort and he was reminded that her mind was also to be admired, something Crowe surely could not appreciate. He wanted them to leave them alone, so he could be the only one privy to her witticisms. He dropped his mask, perhaps to talk to her, perhaps to drink wine, he could not tell. She told him of how self-conscious she was in such a gathering, how out of place she felt. He reminded her that, in her own words, he was an outlier. Perhaps she would understand how deeply she had pierced through his defenses. He could not bring himself to leave her side, and they started taking a turn about the room, exchanging some words. It felt heavenly to not be on edge, or fighting. She turned to him and put down her mask again, and he liked that she felt she could not talk to him with it on: “I think I would like to leave now too, with your permission.” He jolt of desire went straight to his groin, at the thought that the untamable Miss Heywood might require his permission to do anything. He could not say that, so he said something similar: “My permission?” he smiled, “Since when have you required my permission to do anything?” He liked the intimacy that it implied. But she seemed to misunderstand his teasing, and looked around with discomfort. “I know’, she looked up at him, “I’m… too headstrong… too opinionated and too.” “No” he said, firmly, looking into her eyes because he wanted her to understand him completely, “you’re not too anything.” Somehow, it did not feel like enough. The gates were open and he had to let it out. “Don’t doubt yourself” he could hear his words, they sounded like the caress he wanted to give, “you’re more than equal to any woman here.” He only realized they were having a moment when Babington and Tom interrupted them, like he was snapped out of a hazy dream. He did not get to see her reaction well. If he was honest, he was becoming addicted to the expressions of her face. He had seen her annoyed and angry. At him, mostly. But he was becoming addicted to her face of wonder. As if he had said something that entirely surprised her, and that she could not process.

After a while promoting Sanditon like Tom wanted him too, he went in search of her, hoping she had not already left. He found her in an adjacent, quiet room, deep in conversation with Lady Worcester. Of course, she would befriend one of the most fashionable and important people at the party. He tried to project more confidence than he felt, aware that he was asking Charlotte to dance when a mere six hours ago he had been snapping at her in a carriage. He was so nervous that he did not even ask Lady Worcester for her name, as would have been polite – he had heard of her, but they had not been introduced until then. She had said they were talking about him thought. The mere thought brought him disquiet, but he was too focused on dancing with Charlotte to care now. It felt strange, this time, to give her his arm and feel her light touch upon his bare hand, stranger than when they were strangers and had danced their first dance. The dance finished, and it was time to take their position. “You did not have to ask me, you know. Out of politeness.” He played along for a little, “It’s what people do at dances, is it not? Unless you’d rather not.” She quickly said no: “It’s only that… there are so many other ladies here that you could ask.” The words were out before he could filter them: “But I don’t want to dance with them.” He let the shadow of a smile come out to reassure her, as she gazed at him in silence once more. _Can you not see? I want you._

The dance started. He was determined to look at her, to lock her gaze in his, for the duration of the dance. The dance allowed him to not look down, not flee her eyes. And looking back she was. When he opened her hand for her to take it, he looked at her, daring her to get closer than they had before. And she did, closer than the others around them. She looked up at him from this close and it felt like a kiss. The dance was perfect, for it allowed for such intimate moves, one almost forcing them closer than was appropriate, their chests almost touching. It was an exercise in keeping her close and never really letting go. Then the pirouette came and she was so graceful, so perfect, that he lost his seriousness, the only thing keeping him more or less straight, and smiled a disarmed smile, which she mirrored adorably. The music kicked up and they were jumping, sliding, colliding and he felt freer and happier than he had in a decade. It was over too quickly, and they missed the last movement because they were caught contemplating one another. So this is what happened when you dropped your weapons?

She was so close at the end he would have kissed her if they were alone, and how he wishes that they were. The things he would do, to the golden dress, to the breasts that tormented him. With what felt like Herculean restraint, he let her hand go and winced, feeling the loss in his whole body. He looked at her. Was it possible, for a moment, that she felt the same? He looked away, afraid of seeing the answer, and it hit him like a ton of bricks. Eliza. Could it be?

He was spellbound, and needed to get closer, thanking Charlotte for the dance, and getting away. Eliza was wearing a red dress, and she felt at the same time like the very same, and like a different woman. It was like seeing your only love after you’ve hated them. It was like an accident one cannot look away from. He had not seen her since she had told him she would not be marrying him, after all. But right now, raw and bare from the intimate moment he just shared with Charlotte, he could not bring himself to feel pain or anger. He was just love, all love. It felt like destiny. He had heard – for how could he not – that she was recently widowed, but was sure she would not be returning to London. He approached her, and said “Mrs. Campion”, which felt strange, the name of another man, not her name, not his either. He felt relieved when she smiled at him and called him by his own name. It felt like a million years ago and like yesterday, and they chatted easily. He did not feel a weight on his shoulders. In all this time, he would never have thought that he would not feel anger or resentment upon seeing her again, but here he was. He was suddenly aware that the dance had ended, and he saw Charlotte, like she came from another world. At this moment, Sidney felt like a new man. A man who could bear to attempt happiness again. A man who could feel, who could love.


	7. The Rowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 7.

The Rowing

After the ball, Sidney had gone back to the house with Tom and Charlotte. It had been a silent ride, apart from Tom chatting their ears off about the regatta and whoever had seemed to be interested. Charlotte was quiet and downcast again, no doubt thinking of the whole ordeal with Georgiana. He was not presumptuous enough to assume she was thinking of their dance, even though he certainly was. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He waited and waited for his anger for Eliza to come, and was dumbfounded to see that all these years, his anger had been at himself, perhaps for being so vulnerable, perhaps for being too passionate. Even in his reaction to it, he had been impulsive, self-destructive, and could hardly blame her as much as he blamed himself. She was equal to herself, witty and pretty. She had talked of how she had missed London, and that she had established a house here now. They had talked of a similar ball they had attended in their youth. She had congratulated him on his success in Antigua. It was like ten years had not happened. He wondered why she had not had any children. At the thought of children, he looked at Charlotte, and noticed that she was gazing out the window. He asked: “Did you enjoy the ball, Miss Heywood?” She blushed – why? She avoided his gaze, “I did, very much.” Sidney continued: “Tom, you would not believe. I found Miss Heywood talking to none other than Lady Worcester.” Tom looked ecstatic: “Charlotte!! What is she like?” Charlotte looked a bit confused, which made her forget about whatever she had been pensive about, and she was no longer avoiding his gaze now: “I’m afraid I do not know who you mean? Lady Susan Worcester? Is she… important, in London society?” Tom proceeded to explain to her who she was, and as she listened, Sidney remembered what the lady had said. That they had been talking about him. He burned to know what she had meant, but surely he could not ask Charlotte that. He doubted Lady Worcester would care a fig about who he was, but he wondered what Charlotte would have introduced him as, how she would describe him to a stranger.

Once in the house, he had excused himself quickly and gone up to his room. It was the room he inhabited most of the time, as he had not established a house of his own. He thought of how different his life would be if he had married. In remaining determined to be alone all these years, had he unknowingly be waiting for Eliza to be widowed? In his bed, later on, searching his thoughts for a bit of calm, he settled on Charlotte. He was unsure what the dance had meant. He had been meaning to redeem himself to her, to come clean about how deeply he had underestimated her, only to find himself mesmerized. Even now, he felt all kinds of calm at the thought, and there was a lightness to his feelings. He fell asleep.

He stayed behind a few days to attend to his affairs, while Tom took Georgiana and Charlotte back to Sanditon. Eliza had written him a letter, and, opening it, he had felt a fluttering of emotions. She was asking about the regatta, whether she could come with some of her friends. He answered amiably. On his own return to Sanditon, he thought of what Charlotte had reproaching him with, his neglect of Georgiana, and felt shame. He would try to rebuild his relationship with her, as, truly, he worried about her well-being after such an event. He went to see her as soon as he arrived, and found her in bed. When he told her he was determined to make amends, she said “Men like you cannot change.” He realized that, to her, he was a different man. An angry, stern one. An older one. One who had come close to ruination, and one who cared not for others. “I know, Georgiana. You know everything about me that most people do not. You know I’ve been through the same ordeal.” She rose slightly in her bed, fierce as ever: “Do not compare our situations. She did not love you, or she would have married you. Otis loves… loved…me, and you separated us. That is what happened. Your heartbreak was not to be loved. My heartbreak is to be loved, and kept apart.” If she had slapped him, it would have felt better. But something about the way she had said that did not sit well with him. He took her hand, and she let him. “Georgiana, please. How can I change if you don’t give me a chance?” he smiled softly: “You will not let me become a stern old bag who has a heart of stone, will you?” She turned around: “It is not that I do not believe you. But I am waiting to see it.” He asked her to please take care of herself, and he headed for the door. “Why now?” she called out behind him. He turned. “Why do you want to change now?” She looked suspicious. He decided for honesty: “I am ashamed of who I have become.” She looked at him, with a bit of understanding and even some pity, and he thought maybe this could be fixed. He smiled, and exited. Charlotte was there, in the corridor, and he was not surprised. She would always be waltzing into his life and he was quite resolved to it now. They exchanged a few words about Georgiana, and he kept walking as they crossed path. “I… I might wait for you downstairs, if you don’t mind.” The truth was, he missed her company.

Mrs. Griffiths entertained him with tales of the many virtuous books she had read, and after what felt like an hour, he saw Charlotte in the doorway and took his leave. They walked together into the street. She told him he had to be patient with Georgiana. “You know how sharp the agony of separation can be.” As usual, she had a way of knowing everything. How did she know about that? He could remember Georgiana had said in front of her that he had cauterized his heart. Perhaps Georgiana had told her what she knew. He told her she was right – she often was – and added, more for himself than for her, that fate had a strange way of surprising even the most jaded amongst us. It was a just representation of what was happening. A surprise of fate. He did not think it too much to admit that he was jaded, since they spoke in metaphors. It was, after all, everything she was not. “You’re not nearly as unfeeling as you pretend.” _Because of you, _he thought. Instead, he asked her to keep it to herself, for he had a reputation to uphold. Another inside joke; she had mocked his reputation, and called him out for it. He felt warm that she did not think him unfeeling anymore.

Eliza arrived with her group of friends, and immediately wanted to visit Tom and Mary, whom she had met all those years ago. There, in the parlor, while they exchanged pleasantries, he remained silent and noticed her waiting in the corner. He wanted to introduce her, but also did not. Wanted to keep her for himself. He looked at her, really looked at her, and she seemed upset. He tried to express as much as possible. Only he was not sure what.

Later, when he could not prevent himself from going to greet his nephews and Charlotte at the sandcastle competition, it was natural that Eliza should finally ask who Charlotte was. The words were easy to find but did not quite fit. She was a guest of Tom and Mary. “She’s rather a sweet little thing.” She was not. She was a tornado, a breath of fresh air, a fighter and a force of nature. Little was not a word he would have used. Perhaps only an outlier like him could see the qualities of someone like Charlotte, while Eliza cared about more mundane, elegant things. He suddenly felt like not showing her the bathing machines. He wanted to play in the sand with the kids and with Charlotte.

Hearing Tom summarize his history with Eliza felt like sandpaper. The ten years of loving her. The fact that everything should be easy and straightforward now. What if it wasn’t? It was Arthur who delivered the last blow: “I admire your spirit of forgiveness, that is all. If it were me I’m not sure I could bring myself to trust her again.” Sidney acted as though this had not been a blow. He had not thought of trust, only of an impossible love being possible again. She had behaved the same, mostly, as his memories of her, comforting him in the idea that he had done well to love her, if his ten-year-older self still liked and enjoyed her company?

Charlotte appeared to him again near the river, as he was lost in his thoughts, having gotten away from people. It did not feel like an intrusion, as it had before. She was merely reminding all competitors that the race would start soon. He felt playful, “Well, Miss Heywood, do I look ready to you?” What was it about her that always made him want to bare himself and ask for her opinion of him? He decided upon trying a bit of rowing, and made his way to the boat with the oars. As if on cue, she followed him with another pair. Leaving their disagreement aside, the fluidity of their interactions, the fact that they needed few words to understand each other, felt like a comfortable mattress at the end of a long ride. He thanked her and took the oars from her. She was standing near the boat, not moving. If the metaphor had been unclear, he needed to be more explicit. “A man cannot step into the same river twice. Have you ever heard that?” “He is not the same man, and it is not the same river.” She was looking at him, and he smiled. “It’s Heraclitus.” “Yes, of course you’d know that.” He tilted his head to look at her better, like he needed a different angle from which to examine her. He wanted her to row with him. “Well, I need a second person to balance the boat. Do you mind?” He held his hand out to her, wishing she would take it. No one else was here. She started refusing, and he interrupted her “Come on”, with a smile. Only she would take his “Come on” like the pleading that it was. He had already detached the boat, so getting her onto it implied him holding out both of his arms and carrying her the slightest bit, and he was suddenly in heaven. She landed with a bang, and he immediately put more space between them, holding one of her hands with two of his. He was surrounded with softness. He sat after her, and started rowing towards the middle of the river.

He asked her why it was that, when he finally had a chance at happiness, he could not just accept the fact. She had laid him bare, after all. Surely she would have some insight into his soul he had not yet considered. She went pensive, frowning as usual. “What is it you cannot accept?” He thought that he was asking her about Eliza, but as the words crossed his lips he knew that they were for her. _Could you love me? _“I had convinced myself that I was destined to remain alone. That I was ill-suited for matrimony.” _But you would not leave me alone. You are always here. _She seemed to have an answer. She did not believe that anybody was truly unsuited to marriage. “Not even you”, she added, with a bit of sarcasm that felt like tenderness. He laughed. “I suppose it’s just a question of compatibility,” she added, her chin straight and proud, like she dared him to do something. He wanted to give her the oars now. Really, it was an excuse to touch her. Her hands were not in gloves, and he burned to feel them. “Give me your hands”, and she did. He put his own hands above hers, and acted quieter than he felt. He was teaching her. She was, for once, silent, and while he loved her voice, he was mesmerized by the swaying movement of their bodies. They had nowhere to look but at each other. He felt bold, and touched her waist, under the pretext of straightening her back, which they both knew she could have done without his touch. His thumb grazed her breast, and he felt an electric current. It was not even a second. He had even grazed her thigh. He looked down, then looked at her sheepishly, caught red-handed, and chuckled. She was smiling too, and he was glad he had not scared her off. He let her move the oars on her own for a few second, just looking at her. He put his hands back on hers, because he wanted them there, and they kept rowing, and he was commanding her to not look away. Or perhaps she was preventing him from looking away. He was not sure. All he could think about was of kissing her. He did not care how impractical it would be on the boat. He had never wanted to kiss someone this much. He heard his name and was snapped out of the dream. Eliza, on the bank, waving. He stood up, unsure why, and waved back. The moment was gone. He sat back down, but under Eliza’s gaze, Charlotte would not look at him anymore, and he could not take her hands in his anymore. He felt then that he was in trouble. That he had a choice.

He could not tell the moment at which he had offended her, but he knew he had, and he panicked. First, there had been Eliza’s provocation, making his blood turn, at the mere thought that a boy in her village may have touched her heart already. Then, he had tried to reassure her, for he could tell she was nervous, and he could also tell Eliza was jealous, and teasing her. He had thought he was reminding her that he knew her, and understood her. But she had left the tent, and he followed after her without caring for the rest. He grasped her arm, for she was fleeing him. He asked her to wait. Five times he repeated it, running after her. “I only ask for a moment.” She turned back to him, waiting for him to speak. Now what? Did he apologize for Eliza or for what he had said? “It was only meant in jest.” He could see tears. He had not seen tears in her eyes since the balcony. “Is that what I am to you? A source of amusement?” He did not even think: “No of course not! You’re m…” What could he say? _Not that. Never that. _What had he wanted to say? He was not sure he himself knew. “Forgive me,” he asked, more than said. But she would not, and he was lost, trying to retain her once more. “What is it you want from me?” He had no answer. “Please. Be kind enough to leave me alone.” And that was it. Seeing her run away, after having been mocked by the woman he thought he loved, after having challenged him to tell her what he wanted, he understood that he loved her. That he did not want to leave her alone. There was simply nothing else to do but to accept the fact.

Mr. Stringer gave him hope. Could it be that, if winning the race was not the prize he was after, he meant Charlotte. But if Stringer did not have her, then was it possible that he also knew, somehow, that she preferred him, Sidney Parker, the tongue-lasher, the dandy? At the thought, Sidney decided to risk it. A day with Eliza had been enough to reveal the limitations of a rekindled relationship. There were parts of her personality he did not like, but mostly, she was not Charlotte. He would always trust Charlotte, who always told him the truth – his truth – and chose to make him improve himself.

Eliza waited for him after the race. He smiled, he could not stop now that he was smiling again. She was declaring herself, or at least, declaring that they could be together again. He felt bad for her. She had probably been unhappy in her marriage. She probably loved him, in some way. He sighed. “Eliza, I am sorry. It is too late.” She seemed stricken, but not surprised. She bowed her head and said: “I had a feeling. It is the pretty little thing, is it not?” He nodded, “I will not do you the discourtesy of not being honest. But there is also the fact that, for as much as I have loved you”, he took her hand, “I do not know whether I would ever trust you with my heart again.” Eliza looked up, tearful, “I understand. I had hoped your love would have endured. I see that it has not.” He was frustrated then, “Eliza, you have no right to assume. You married a wealthier man. You broke off our engagement.” “And you do not think she is marrying you for your wealth? Sidney. Please.” He sighed. “She is not marrying me. In fact, I don’t even know whether she does not still dislike me quite a bit. But I have decided to try. Good bye, Eliza. I wish you every happiness.” And he was out. He felt freer than he had in years. He looked at the river and thought of Charlotte. He had to say something to her.

He found her near the Sanditon model in Tom’s study. All was dark, and everybody was upstairs already. She was still hurt, slightly cold. “If you’re looking for your brother…” “I am not.” He crossed his hands behind his back, and kept a safe distance. “As a matter of fact, I was looking for you.” Her face showed confusion for a bit, then she retorted “I thought you and Mrs. Campion would be heading back to London”, her chin was up, in defiance. He remained stoic. “She’s already left.” Charlotte said nothing. “I decided against joining her.” More silence. “On reflection, I realized, I would rather be here.” She seemed confused. He had to say more, but did not know how. How could a man speak of love, who had not practiced in years? He searched for inspiration on the floor. “I… I’m a great deal less than perfect. You’ve made me all too aware of that.” The truth. He would tell her the truth. She looked on. “But, for whatever it’s worth, I believe I am my best self” (perhaps best was not the best way to put it) “my truest self”, he rectified, “when I’m with you.” She was looking, and had opened her mouth the slightest bit. He wanted to kiss her senseless. To hell with propriety and the model of Sanditon. But he wanted to give her time to adjust to his feelings. He hoped it would make room for hers to blossom. “That is all”, he added, and he walked out of the room.


	8. The Cliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to split the last episode, so readers can choose to not read chapter 9 if they want this to end well. There will be a sequel, but just in case, here is a happy ending.

Chapter 8: the Cliff

Closing the door behind him, Sidney could feel his heart beating wildly. He went to sit on the bed, undid his tie. He tried to replay the mental image he had taken of her as he declared himself. For that is what he had just done. Had she been surprised? Happy? Scared? He knew that she was several years younger, but still older than he had been when he had first fallen in love. He thought that she had to feel something for him, otherwise the dance, the rowing, and her being so upset at Eliza’s teasing would be hard to explain. But not impossible. He did not want to presume. He knew that he could be charming when he wanted to, but he did not want to merely ply her to his will with a bit of easy seduction. He wanted her to love him as he did her. He wanted her to want him like he wanted her. And wanted her he did, desperately. He readied himself for bed, staying in Trafalgar house this time. He knew her room was the very next one. She would be doing exactly the same right now, perhaps. He lay down, his arms crossed behind his head, looking at the ceiling. He hoped that at this very moment her feelings for him would be growing, if they were not there yet. It seemed like the wrong thing to do would be to propose marriage to her tomorrow. She had been adamant about marriage being far from her mind, and he did not want to go too fast and risk scaring her. How did you court someone when you already knew them, knew the face they made when they were angry, the smile they kept for you only, the way they ran away when they had caught you naked? They had shared too much, and too little.

He rolled over, putting his arm under the pillow. She was in the next room. He wanted to remember the way they were, a few hours ago, drenched in the sun, on the river; he could not remember having ever felt so free and so at peace. He could see her still, her back straight, expecting this to be a challenge. _All I ever want is to be alone with you_. It is what he had meant. He had not knowingly courted her, they had been pushed toward one another, and they had pushed back with all their strength, until they had learned to dance together. He was his best self with her. And if that was not enough, if his best was not so good, at least he was his truest self. He had never lied to her. He had understood his faults and tried to correct them. He recalled the awkwardness of their first dance, how distant he had forced himself to be. The truth was, her low, round necklines had been driving him to distraction long before he had understood her true power over him. He pondered how he felt about this. It turns out, he found himself comfortable being in her power, since she was the most intelligent, honest and good person he knew. She would not do him wrong.

He thought of how her hands had felt under his. Sidney considered himself quite adventurous in the matters of the flesh, and could not bring himself to feel shame; his life in recent years had afforded little distractions, and this was one of them. And yet he did not expect for a single second that things with Charlotte would be like anything he had known before. The fact was, he had felt more by a simple touching of her bare skin, a grazing of her breast, than he had in his most bestial encounters with the other sex. He loved women’s bodies, but he wanted to worship hers. He remembered, a powerful tightening of his stomach, the way she had felt when he had helped her skip into the boat. The way her breasts had been against his chest for the briefest of seconds.

They had been gliding peacefully along, she was leaning down when he leaned back, and back when he leaned in. He was mesmerized by her body, the way her breasts looked when they were closest to him, and how desperately he wanted to touch them, but then she would lean away. She had looked at him in earnest, smiling, her freckles all over her face. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Sidney fell asleep.

He woke up with a start, aware of another presence in the room. He had fallen asleep with the window open and the room was cold, but the moonlight revealed Charlotte, sitting on the side of his bed, in a night shirt that left little to the imagination. “I had a dream” Charlotte whispered. Sidney straightened on the bed, sitting up to get closer. “Charlotte. You shouldn’t be here.” “I cannot stop thinking about what you said.” She brought her hand to his neck, caressing the skin she found there, sliding her hand to his torso. She moved closer then, and he stayed very still, thinking she may disappear if he moved to quickly. She kissed him, a flutter of her lips on his, and he was suddenly surrounded by her smell. She leaned back to look at him. “I had been wanting to do that since I saw you down at the cove.” Her hand travelled down to his stomach, their lips still almost touching, and she kissed him again, deeper. He responded then, and wrapped his arms around her. He was keeping her from getting away, and she could only get closer. It was pure ecstasy. He dared to bring one hand up to her breast. He had been dreaming of these. She was so full, and her bosom was free from the tight dresses she usually wore. He was massaging her breast now, his other hand in her hair. She straddled him before he could prevent her from doing it, and she pulled at his nightshirt. “I want to see you.” He obliged, and she leaned back, watching him. When he was done, her hands were everywhere, grazing his nipples, scratching his back. He kissed her, and soon moved down to her breasts. He felt her daring hand moving the sheet down, and she took him in hand. He caught his breath, and looked at her. Even in the darkness he could tell her eyes were darker. “Are you certain you want this?”, the restraint straining his voice. _Are you certain you want me?_ She nodded, and started moving her hand up and down, like she knew what he needed. He reached his right arm behind her back and soon had her on her back, where he wanted her. He gently pulled her legs apart, and started licking at her. Her hand was in his hair in seconds, and he could hear her moans. She started moving, and he was smiling in delight. He looked up at her and she was glorious, her hair was everywhere, her eyes closed and for once, she was frowning because of something good that he was doing.

Sidney woke up with a start, on the verge of coming undone. He felt the sharp disappointment that it had all been a dream, but he needed to finish what was started. He imagined her breasts in his face, her above him. He imagined her lying in the bed next door, which he found highly erotic. He came suddenly, with a gasp. Outside, it was still pitch dark. It was going to be a long night.

He saw her the next morning, but he stood there in the street, unsure whether to smile or wave or ravish her to Gretna Green so he could have her as soon as possible. He breathed deep. He needed to take hold of himself, or this would not go anywhere. She had the power to make or break his happiness in a minute. She looked at him with awkwardness. Of course, a woman her age would maybe not have had a man declare himself like that before, and she would be remiss as to how to react. He thought with a flash that perhaps Stringer had declared himself. He seemed eager enough, and Sidney thought with bitterness that the young foreman had probably made himself more likable to her than he ever had. He would wait for her reaction. He would wait for her to pop up like she always did. 

Later that morning, he could not wait any longer, and was resolved to act like a fool. He had a pretext to see Tom, some contracts or whatnot, but she was there, standing in the hallway, a vision in loveliness, and he had to force himself to blink. How did her hair somehow always fall differently on her face? He spoke, as if reciting a line, which is exactly what he was doing: “Good morning, miss Heywood. I was going for a walk, and wondered if you needed anything in town?” She took a few steps closer: “Oh… I have a dress fitting for the ball. Perhaps I could walk with you?” He smiled with relief: “Of course. It would be my pleasure.” He could tell Mary saw right through him but could not bring himself to care. They started walking outside aimlessly, for the dressmaker’s shop was the other way, but Charlotte said nothing so they went on. “I trust that you slept well, miss Heywood.” “Very well, thank you. And you?” He could feel himself blushing. “I confess that I did not.” “Oh.” He could tell she did not know what to say, so he pleaded for himself: “I gather it was all the exercise from the race that made it difficult to sleep.” There. That was better. They were completely out of the town now, walking uphill. “The regatta was a complete success, and all thanks to your idea.” “I cannot take all the credit.” “Of course, besides, Tom would not let you.” She laughed, and he looked at her, and there was just silence. They had reached a clifftop, and the landscape opened up in front of them, all desert and green. As they were now officially alone, Sidney’s courage dropped, and he became nervous. All he could do was blabber about the weather – inconsequential – and her family – really? He was an idiot – until she finally noted out loud that they seemed not to walking into town. He stopped short. That was it, she did not return his feelings. “Ah. Yes. Your dress fitting. Forgive me. What a fool I am. Should we head back, perhaps?” She chuckled, “No, there is absolutely no urgency about my dress fitting. A walk along the clifftops is much more to my taste.” He smiled like a fool. A happy fool, and walked closer to her. “Good. My thoughts exactly.” Once he faced her, he could not go back. “I was hoping that we might find a moment when we could be alone together.” Had he ever been this close to her? She was looking up at him: “Were you?” “Yes”, he nodded, “I woke up this morning… my head full of the conversation we had last night.” “So did I.” His heart skipped several beats. He took a step closer, and looked at her, open, her hair flying about in the wind. “Charlotte.” He revelled in pronouncing her name out loud for the first time; he had been using it in his head for a while already, but his heart contracted as the word came out, like a question. “Yes”, she said, and he could not believe his luck. He brought his face closer, leaning in, closed his eyes, and then she was kissing him, bringing her face towards his, too, as he slipped one arm around her. She tasted of berries, of love, of freedom. He was catching her top lip, her nose was crushed against his and he had to force himself to stop or he never would. He kissed her lip one last time, quickly, and she swayed towards him, wanting more. She nuzzled his nose as he grazed her lip again, and he leaned his forehead against her; he sighed deeply.

He did not release her and put his other arm around her so they could stay like this, foreheads touching, their breathing steadier. He could feel one of her hand on his back, and the other on his chest. He was the happiest he had ever been. “How long have you felt like this?” she asked, her voice graver than he had ever heard it. “A while” he said, and he kissed her forehead. “Can you be more precise?” He smiled, and straightened so he could look at her. “New maid?”, he said, his eyes apologetic. She gasped, and bumped his chest: “You brute!” He took the hand that had swatted his chest and kissed it. “I mean it, Charlotte. Why do you think I took you to the clifftop?" He looked down: "I have been wanting to kiss you on a clifftop since the first day.” It was her turn to chuckle. “If you cannot be serious, Mr. Parker, I shall go to my dress fitting.” She searched his eyes, and saw the sincerity in them. Perhaps now she would believe him, the depth of his love. He hoped it did not scare her; she had asked the question. “Call me Sidney. Please.” “I cannot.” “Why?” “It feels wrong.” “Does this feel wrong?” he kissed her again, this time cupping her face with his hands, as she wrapped her arms around his torso. He could stay like this forever. When he stopped, she stared at him in wonder. “Point taken. Sidney.” She blushed, and was too adorable. They heard voices uphill, and separated quickly. He hoped she felt the loss as much as he did. “Perhaps we should get back”, she said. “Undoubtedly.” They walked mostly in silence, but often looking at one another, and smiling either at each other or at the grass below. “You did not ask me,” she said, as they came in view of the first houses.” He looked at her, “Ask you what?” She seemed to hesitate between shy and dauntless. “How long I have felt like this.” If it was possible, happiness seeped even deeper into his bones. He smiled. “I am afraid of the answer.” “What a pity. Then you shall never know.” He loved her playfulness. They had almost reached the dressmaker shop. He stopped, and looked at her sheepishly. “Fine,” he tried to muster as much fake frustration as he could, “how long have _you_ felt like this?” Was it London? The boat? She took a step forward, turned back toward him, and without the slightest hint of a blush, she said: “I cannot say for certain. But I do believe it was somewhere between the first tongue-lashing and the cove. Good day, Mr. Parker.” And with that, she took the last step towards the shop. 


	9. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're not welcome, and you don't have to thank me for this.

The Fall

Sidney was stuck in place, unable to move, his mouth slightly open. He could not believe she had just say that. When she had asked the question, he had not thought longer than a second. He could have asked back, whether she was speaking of love, or of attraction. Did it even make a difference, when he had felt the pull instantly? It would have been useful, though, now that she had given her own answer. Somewhere between the first tongue-lashing – so, the balcony, then – and the cove. He chuckled, and turned on his heels. He needed to take a swim. He usually swam when he was frustrated, troubled. Not that he did not enjoy it, but it was an exhilarating experience to swim when happy. Perhaps everything now would feel like this. Although Sidney was no optimist, he felt light. He felt like he could get a new chance at happiness. How he had been lucky enough to manage to make her like him, he did not know. He was not sure what to do now; whether to court her, or propose marriage immediately.

He ate at the Crowne with Babington. “Sidney? Are you here?” Sidney reacted with a start: “Sorry, Babbers. There is a lot on my mind.” Babington laughed. “Aye. On mine too. Care to share?” Babington was his good friend, which, over the years, was not saying little. And he was in need of advice. “I…err…” Babington chuckled: “Right. And how is Miss Heywood then?” Sidney looked at him. “Is it that obvious?” “To anyone who cares to look, I dare say.” “Right. Well then. I would like to propose marriage to her. But I wonder if it would be soon.” “Does she return your affections?” He hesitated: “I do not know. Perhaps.” Babington leaned back. “You know, I talked to her at the ball in London. I think she does.” Sidney choked on his food a little. “You had a conversation with Char – with Miss Heywood that was intimate enough to share such details?” “It is a bit more complicated than that. She brought up Miss Denham, asked me how I was faring with her. So, I asked her, as a woman, whether she thought that her affections for a man could change completely in the space of a day.” Sidney was spellbound: “And?” Babington continued: “And she looked very troubled, and said it was hard for her to breathe in the crowded room, and she took her leave. I did not immediately realize, but I am a smart man, you know.” Sidney’s mind was racing. He was decided. He would propose marriage tonight.

Perhaps it was because he now knew what she tasted like, but she looked more beautiful than ever, in a blue gown that surely would haunt his dreams now. He had been waiting for a long time, and when she arrived, he was immediately taken away by Tom, and had to look at her dance with Mr. Stringer. She seemed happy, open, and he could not help but hope it was because of him. He felt more than he saw her arrive to the balcony. “Finally” he breathed out, catching her hands in his, “I thought I would never get you alone.” It felt intimate, already. “Do you remember the last time we were on this balcony?” “All too well.” “What a brute I was.” “I deserved everything you said.” He sighed, and looked at her with as much intensity as he felt: “No, you didn’t. I hope I am a different man now.” He tightened his hold on her hands. “No, you’re the same man. But much improved.” He felt like he was tearing up a little, at the thought that he could deserve her. Get her. “If I have changed at all, it is in no small part down to you.” “I have never wanted to put myself in someone else’s power before. I never wanted to care for anyone but myself.” She seemed peaceful. “Miss Heywood.” He corrected: “Charlotte…”

And that is when everything went wrong. So wrong. He had told her they would finish their conversation when he came back from London. And as he had said it, he had hoped with everything he had that it would be possible. But as the carriage drove away, he felt overwhelmed at the immensity of the amount of money Tom owed. He felt a surge of rage at the situation, and at his brother. He had always been on the verge of the next catastrophe. But Sidney owed him his second chance at life, and besides, he could not let Mary and the children be left without Tom. He knew what his last resort would be. He would try everything else. But he felt hopeless.

It was the last day in London, and he had tried all he could. He had talked to potential investors but only a few of them were interested, and they would never reach the eighty thousand. Sidney did not sleep anymore, he calculated, added numbers, thought of options. He could feel his future with Charlotte slipping away from him, and it tore at his heart. At the thought of having to let her go, at the thought of breaking her heart as he broke his own, he wanted the ground to swallow him. He thought back to what Charlotte had said on the balcony the first time. And to what he had responded, about making something of the world. He had spoken with passion and frustration. For this was the type of men he recognized himself and Tom to be: modern men, with ideas and a sense of progress. Yet she had been completely right in more ways than one. Tom was a fool, and Sidney was about to sacrifice his happiness, and Charlotte’s, to save him from debtor’s prison.

He presented himself to Mrs. Campion’s house, his face grave. He did not know how he would start. She was a bit ironic, asking him why he was here after having rejected her so recently. She was proud, but did not seem too hurt or revengeful. He sat down. “Eliza. I came because there has been a tragedy in Sanditon, and I wondered if you might want to help.” “Do go on, Sidney.” “There was a fire. The terraces building has gone up in flame. Tom has not insured the building, so he owes eighty thousand. His principal investor is threatening to pursue the debt. He would end up in prison.” Eliza had the decency to look shocked. “I am sorry to hear it. It is an incredible sum.” There was silence. He started again, forcing the words out. “I do not expect you to receive this request warmly, but I had to try. I know… given what you know of my brother, you would not want to become principal investor and trust him with your money.” “You are right, I would not.” “I could insure that I take care of the financial side of things. That he has no real power over the money.” “Undoubtedly.” He looked at her. “You would consider it?” She took his hands. “Sidney. I am widowed, and I have a lot of money. You know that I want us to be together again. I still want it. I am ready to share this money with you as my husband, and to let you use it as you please. I have never forgotten you. I hope that you can see that fate is giving us a second chance.” This is the moment Sidney’s hope died. Eliza spoke again. “I will not do you the affront of asking you about Miss Heywood, and I certainly do not think you would dare making her your mistress. But if we do this, I want you for myself.” He swallowed. “Very well, then. Mrs. Campion, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He walked around like a dead man walking. Nothing had taste, nothing had color. Talking to Charlotte had been his death sentence. He had looked at her like it was the last time he could see her loving him. Perhaps loving him. But never again. He had crushed her spirit, done the same to her as had been done to him all these years ago. Yet when she left, he galloped after the carriage and brought it to a halt. He rushed to get closer, and did not dare kiss her, however much he wanted to. “I could not let you go without…” the rest of the words caught in his throat. He could tell she was disappointed, that she had hoped he was coming to stop this ridiculous charade, to bring her to Scotland, anything but this. She had said she understood. She was too good for all of them. “Tell me you don’t think too badly of me.” _Please. I’m saying goodbye to my best self as I’m saying goodbye to you._ “I don’t think badly of you.” _You are the only one that matters. Always._ “I don’t love her you know.” _I love you. _They had never talked of love. Not had the time. It had felt like another life. It had felt like hope.

As he closed the door, he could not believe that this would be the end. He felt a panic rise inside of him, and it took all his strength not to get on his horse and flee everything, with her. They could go to Scotland, then move to Bordeaux. But his best self, his truest self, told him to take care of his family, for his brother had been careless. He turned to look at the sea, which looked as tormented as he felt. His resolve built up. He would not accept this. He would fix this mess. Then he would go throw himself at her feet, and they would move far, far away. Hope did not die easily in the new, improved Sidney Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post part II of this series as soon as I can. I'm not sure yet what it will be, but it will be happy, and it will be naughty. Thank you for reading!


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